drugstoreglitter

[drugstoreglitter]

there’s a restless energy about jude in his hometown, like he reverts back to a younger version of himself. the arndale centre’s infinitely more ‘classy’ than the wheatsheaf precinct, where you can’t walk five seconds without bumping into some reprobate who knew your brother’s sister’s boyfriend and you’d rather not bump into, actually. still, he feels the need to point out the shit that jenny that she probably doesn’t ( and shouldn’t ) care about. the argos where he got his nintendo DS in the boxing day sales when he was twelve. the build-a-bear workshop that siobhan did her year ten work experience in. the holland and barrett aoife always ransacks for herbs and potions to align their chakras when one of them’s feeling slightly under the weather. his arm snaps up like a jack-in-the-box from her grip and points each of them out in turn, anecdotes that only half make sense in his feral tongue, an idiolect cobbled together from all of the people he’s ever met.

“ ah. pret a manger. that’s dead fancy, that. ” jude notes, pressing a kiss against the parting of jenny’s hairline. jude’s never actually been inside pret a manger, he just assumes it’s fancy ‘cos it’s in french, so saying it automatically makes you feel at least an income bracket higher. only the posh kids ever took GCSE french at his school. “ or you could get your clit pierced at claire’s, ” he notes, as she burrows her face into the space between his shoulder blades, hugging him from behind. “ they do it in the window and everything. well, not clits, but definitely ears and noses and shit. ” he still remembers the day he’d taken a fourteen year old siobhan ( against their mother’s wishes ) to get her tragus done at claire’s, a stick-on moustache stuck to his lip as he claimed to be her dad. “ ah, mate ! the works. ” cue another finger point to a gaudy blue and yellow store, easels propped in the windows alongside wooden mannequins. “ they’ve got absolutely shit craic books called shit like ‘please, daddy, put down the knife’ and loads of cheap tacky art supplies, but it’s like a right of passage, y’know. ” growing up, the works was a staple in the dempsey household, and come christmas his stocking would be packed with shite from the reduced section. foam bullets for a nerf gun he didn’t possess, acrylic paint he’d never use, the entire works of william shakespeare — to be fair, he did get some use out of that one. 

“ don’t put words in my mouth, jennifer. your stuff’s seriously fit, i just wanna treat you is all. ” by now, he’s spotted the lingerie store, one-track mind with a solo mission ahead, like an NPC without the programmed option to go anywhere else. his hands grasp at the coldness of her fingers beneath his shirt, footing clumsy as she stumbles her weight into him, the two of them teetering like one two-headed creature that’s only just learning to walk. ( there are twice as many stars as usual). she appeals to his ego when, spun like a doll in a jewellery box, she wraps herself around him, looping under his arms calling him her big strong man. if she hadn’t leapt when she did, jude would surely be throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, one hand on her arse ‘as support’. he fakes buckling under the weight of her slim frame, rising back up with a grisly laugh. “ i’m joking, i’m joking. christ, don’t go getting all body dysmorphic on me. ” if aoife were here, she’d be scalding him for even saying that. she lacks the shared language of inappropriate bordering on offensive that jenny and jude have in common. maybe jenny's the one purring, but jude’s the one who’s eyes are fluttering closed, a low hum in his throat as he arches catlike into her touch, the combination of her voice in his ear and her lips against his throat stirring him more than he’d like to admit. “ keep goin’ on like this and i'll wanna see you in nothin’. birthday suits only. ” perhaps a little difficult considering they're staying at his mum's.

his nose nudges hers back and his teeth snap against the air, narrowly missing her skin. he brushes the curtain of blonde from his face — like it’s his own, and he’s suddenly sprouted a kurt cobain mop of blonde overnight — to determine the walkway in front of him, a slight bob in his posture readjusting her position as he piggy backs her towards the store. “ what’s your favourite colour ? feels like that’s summat i should know. i bet it’s like, red or like deep purple or blue. ” his path is determined largely by his preoccupation with avoiding one of the three store attendants with cheshire cat grins, desperate to provide subpar 'help' in an attempt to ease the slow, crushing weight of working in retail. “ no thanks, hun, ” he says, low enough for only jenny’s ears. “ i don’t need you to help me pick which lacy little number i’m going to fuck my girlfriend in. ” the label's still novel enough that it sounds exciting and dangerous in his mouth. instinctively, he’s drawn towards the brighter colours, though he has no idea what any of these do. “ what do you usually go for ? there’s ones with like, padding and shit, but i like the ones where you can kinda see the outline of the tit through it and shit. y’know the ones without loads of wires in. ”  but it’s not about him — it’s about jenny. he needs to remind himself of that. “ pick whatever you want. i’m buying. ” so long as it’s under forty quid, which is the grand total of his monzo balance until he finally gets the payment he’s been waiting for three months for on a freelance videography gig. 

the way jude talks about his childhood, she'd been anticipating a very different sort of holiday. he'd painted it out like he grew up in a hovel just outside the slums, hustling for spare pence as the single greatest chimney sweep that shantytown had ever seen, yet here they are in a (mostly) state of the art shopping mall. it could've been plucked straight out of new jersey, provided you ignored the distinctly british store names and vague scent of brown sauce—the whole city kind of smells like it. of course he's putting his best foot forward, but she thinks even a walking tour of his juvenile detention center would carry a certain charm. what can she say? it's her first time in europe and it feels like something out of a movie with its cobblestone sidewalks and brick buildings and brick houses and brick walls, the cars on the wrong side of the street, and the accents she can't quite understand, and jude.

there's no question he's thrilled to be introducing her to his world, but sometimes she can see him witnessing his own life through her eyes. he'll go tense, his teeth'll clench until his jaw feathers and that crease slices down between his brows. then comes the vape, the fidgeting and the nervous rush of explanations and disclaimers. they'd finally leveled off in the villa, but in the whirlwind since, both of their anxieties are ramped all the way up. yet another reason they should've just stayed in bed today.

her arms wrap around him from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades that gets lost to his jacket, then squeezing herself flush against him. "don't call aoife, babe. it's fine," she murmurs, combing her fingers back through his hair, slow and gentle to his frantic thrumming. his sister is busy enough, minus the fact that jenny doesn't think she cares for her much. she'd seen the tweets. her tweets, his other sisters' tweets, his friends', the public's. the next hug is more for her own sake, focusing on the vibration of his voice to distract from the phone burning a hole in her pocket. "juuude, it's fine," she insists, half-grumble half-laugh that gets all mashed into his shoulder when he tucks her into his side. "what, the lingerie i brought from home's not good enough for you? hm... noted." but her stomach gives a flip that he wants to make her feel good. her hand sneaks up under his jacket, then opts for south, sinking down into his back pocket instead as they stumble forward. "what's thirty yards, anyway, like, a few feet?" wishful thinking. she's pretty sure the conversion goes opposite, which isn't the news her thighs want to hear. "hey, wanna carry me, big guy? big strong, strong man. so strong." she's tripping over their feet to slink under his arm like a limbo stick, coming around to his back with hands that slap onto his shoulders. "since i'm on such a roll with riding," and launches herself onto his back. "there we go. giddy-up, cowboy. to... what was it called? bewks?" she leans forward, hair splaying over his shoulder so she can drop a kiss against the column of his throat, working her way up to his ear. "what do you want to see me in then?" she purrs, voice low. "something lace-y maybe? or... something strappy? lots of pieces to snap or pull?" she nudges her nose against him. "or it is a color thing? what would you prefer, seeing me all dolled up in red or white?"

#jude & jenny. #⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ threads.

[drugstoreglitter]

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[drugstoreglitter]

#JLKSDGJLKDJGSD

[drugstoreglitter]

Sylvia Plath, "The Jailor." Ariel

#⥂ aurélie toussaint. ╱ musings.

[drugstoreglitter]

chelsea g. summers, a certain hunger / ginger snaps (2000) / joan macleod, the shape of a girl / L’AQUART - jade medusa, 2020 / john collier - lilith, 1887 / florence + the machine, “howl” / battle royale (2000) / brenna twohy, “swallowtail” / caravaggio - judith beheading holofernes, 16th c. / herbert james draper - ulysses and the sirens, 1909 / william etty - the sirens and ulysses, 1837 / alicia ostriker, “in the 25th year of marriage, it goes on” / gone girl (2014)

a monster in the shape of a girl

#⥂ aurélie toussaint. ╱ musings.

[drugstoreglitter]

#archie macmillan.

[drugstoreglitter]

maybe it’s true that max has been working for her attention since the second he met her, but in the villa it’s doubtful he’d even have gotten a look in between the luke and the josh and the maddox of it all, and naomi, somehow naomi still ticking like an insect beneath her skin. however complicated her feelings about josh are, her feelings towards naomi are infinitely more complex. sometimes when mimi thinks about her life it feels biblical ; in the same way the holy books span ‘before christ’ and after death, her life seems bisected into two halves, before and after love island, the mimi that existed before and the mimi that’s forever suspended like a loop track, infinitely rewatchable on a screen. it’s like being on the show took a piece of her out ( a whorecrux ) and now anybody who meets her feels like they own a part of her, the same way people who pay for her only fans feel like they own a piece of her simply because they’ve seen her tits. she left a piece of herself in the villa, part of her confidence, part of her ego. she’d entered this ball of fire, left in a plume of flames too, but somewhere along the way she lost herself. she can’t help but attribute it to men, the way over a series of days they’d slowly broken her down, used to having all eyes in the room on her and suddenly unable to hold josh’s attention longer than a handful of days. be careful with her, he’d warned luke. she gets hot and heavy fast. like it was a bad thing to try before you buy into a whole ass relationship. like he’d had any idea what it felt like to be going steady with a guy only to find out six months in that he sucked at giving head. by the end of the show, she’d made peace with josh, with the journey they’d been on and all the unfinished business along the way.  now she’s watched the things he’d said about her behind closed doors to her partner, to her friends, she’s not sure she feels the same way. it’s opened a can of worms she doesn’t know how to put the lid back onto. now, when she finds herself in intimate moments, she feels those words slither over her skin, feels the sink of teeth and the venom in her veins.

 if max notices the way she briefly leaves her body, he doesn’t show it, hand slinking between her thighs only to leave her unsatisfied. her groan is anguished and visceral as she grinds against his fingers, begging them to slip just a little further. when he tells her he’s been working since he met her, she can’t refrain her eye roll.  “ yeah ? ”  she responds, a lilt of challenge in her tone when he meets her hand with his.  “ work harder. ”  she’ll take the pain in the ass comment with a pinch of salt, considering how clear it is that he not only loves but craves a pain in the ass — would probably let her peg him if she asked. one day she'll ask. her thumb swipes along his tip and lifts it to her lips to taste him, bambi-eyed and full of faux innocence as she lowers herself, all the while her gaze trained on him. predictably, the moment he grabs for the camera is the moment she replaces her hand with her mouth, feels him pad against her tongue, then the roof of her mouth, then the back of her throat. it’s only as she slides her fingers beneath the waistband of her pyjama shorts to ease the ache that mimi realises how incredibly one-sided this whole situation feels. sure, she’s the one on top, but he’s the one who started this, sinking his hand between her thighs and neglecting to follow through. all she gets is a teasing suck of the tit before he lies back and thinks of england ? not on her watch.

when she draws her lips off him, she lets her tongue linger, drawing a path from hilt to tip, before she sits back against his thighs. “ babe, how hungry are you ? ”  she asks, in the same vein as she always does when the two of them start thinking about takeout, or cooking, the prospect of another night spent bickering over what to eat.  “ like could you eat now, or are you saving yourself ? ” part of her waits for the spark of recognition in his eyes when he catches the bait that she’s tossing him, but knowing max, it could take a while, his thoughts likely swilling with a myriad of menus while he tries to decipher if dinner’s really worth interrupting this. rising up on her knees, mimi sinks a finger into her mouth and sucks, pulling it down over her lower lip, over her chin, over her throat. it leaves a little trail of spit, shiny like a snail’s trail, as she draws it down over her chest, over her stomach, sinks it into her shorts with a performative little gasp, rolling her hips against the grain of it. her thumb tucks over the edge of her pyjama shorts, and in one sharp tug, brings them and the panties down, abandoned around her knees. hands grasping his hips like the horns of a rodeo bull, she throws a leg over him, her back to him as she sits, reverse cowgirl on his chest, and gazes over her shoulder, eyes bright with mischief.  “ i think you’re hungry... ” she notes, nose wrinkling, when she swipes the phone from his fingers to free up his hands so that they'll pay her skin attention instead, props it up against the leg of the coffee table, little care for the cinematics or whether they’re even in frame.  “ you should eat. ”  one hand on his hip, the other wrapped around his shaft, she shifts her ass back to sit on his face. her intake of breath is sharp, hand flexing it’s grip against his hip, battling the urge to buck her hips. she lowers herself, licks a line over his abdomen, and sinks her mouth down onto his length to taste him.

the punchy climax of the love island theme song beats a fantasy in him and, god, he so wishes she'd still been in the villa when he'd arrived. is there anyone who had your eye already? they'd asked him upon entry. mimi. stoked to meet mimi. he can imagine this little thing of their's would've been more drawn out, that she would've made him work for it more as if she had more options in the villa. it probably wouldn't have been long before he joined the ranks of naomi and rhys, just bopping aimlessly around the villa until he got attention from the one person he wanted it from. mix in a little jenny and he's suddenly exceedingly grateful he didn't meet mimi in the villa.

in any case, he's sure it wouldn't have been this. mimi, groaning girlish, but still stubborn, circling her hips down onto him. both of them fighty, but game. this feels like a glitch in the system, an anomaly. there should be no reality where mimi confesses with fingers wrapped tight around his dick how much she wants him and he's not exactly keen to give any woman what she wants, but he pretends like she's strong armed him against the ground. the hand she's holding hostage tugs lightly to test her restraint, his hips jerk underneath her, suggesting he can flip this whole thing on it's head right now and, though he probably will, he doesn't yet.

it feels like a miracle to be rid of his shirt, he'd anticipated their patience would be ground too thin, that they'd just fuck around the clothes. all stretched seams and bunched fabric, the important parts already exposed to the air. most of them anyway, he shoves his free hand - the one she thankfully doesn't have enough grips to restrain - unceremoniously under her own waistband, sliding his fingers between the nonexistent space between their bodies and reaches for her center, but she's slid a little too far back on his thighs, he can't fully make it and he grunts with some frustration, a lot of pleasure. "baby, i been working since the second i met you," max argues, panting, thrusting his hips to goad her own. finally he recoils his hand from her pants and wraps it around her's, helps her stroke. there's a genuine laugh at her estimation, low and throaty. "you're a pain in my ass," he tells her, finding her eyes with his brows arched up, utterly matter-of-fact. "you're exactly what i deserve." spoke like a true masochist.

max lifts himself up long enough to snatch the phone from her hand, turns the lens onto her. "the male gaze is so much more fun." there she is all lips and tits and hands, too nasty probably even for the onlyfans he always jokingly eggs her on to start (in reality, if she wanted to, he would probably insist she don't do it). the clip is soundtracked by his heavy breaths, a ragged groan. "it's not about what i deserve. it's about what i want." what he wants is for her to stop playing coy and sit on his dick. max watches her pixelated version on the screen, his eyes a glittering challenge, smirk melting into a smile. "i think you want me."

#this is so nasty. #i ought to be taken to the town square and shot by a peacekeeper. #nsfw. #nsfw #mimi & max. #⥂ mimi martínez. ╱ threads.

[drugstoreglitter]

can anyone help me figure out how to get normal gifs back instead of this in my reply??

#indie rp

[drugstoreglitter]

sometimes, mimi asks herself if it’s max she’s attracted to or the way max makes her feel. she’s attracted to sounds he makes when she touches him. she’s attracted to the speed at which she can get him hard, with her hands or down the phone, telling him what she’ll do to him when she’s home. she’s attracted to the way his lip shakes when she tells him not to cum, and the way he says her name when she eventually lets him. it sounds like praying. but his system of beliefs? the way he conducts himself in social situations? the careless habits that seem almost as intrinsic to him as his perpetual cigarettes? she can give or take most of those. luckily, when he’s fucking her, all of that context fades away. they’re just bodies. bodies are her comfort zone. bodies are easy. it’s the feelings that are hard. still, she’ll swear she feels nothing beyond the physical for him. still, it twists like a knife in the gut any time the flash of a notification appears. michelle. 

the pinch of skin brings her back to her body, a faint cry at the back of her throat as she arches into the touch. “ i’m not submissive. ” the words are groaned through gritted teeth. she could be, could be a lot of things if he asked, but he says it like it's a dirty word. if he'd aimed to rile her, he's succeeded.  “ fuck you. ”  cold hits her chest when he rolls up her shirt ( somehow hotter than stripping her of it entirely ), fabric gathered around her sternum, and suddenly it’s not enough to feel his hands against his skin. she wants his mouth. wants his tongue. he rubs the lamp of her desires and grants her wish, teeth against her nipple, and mimi groans, pitchy and needy as she shifts her hips to feel him, sinks her hand beneath his waistband and wraps her fingers around his length. there’s tenderness in the kiss he plants against her nipple, despite how dirty, and she returns that tenderness with a stroke of his head. there aren’t enough hands to touch him in all the places that elicit a sound. she wants his throat, his mouth, the back of his neck, his nose, his stomach, the curve of his cupid bow. she wants the left nipple that tastes like house keys, the ridge of a vein on his arm when he strums his guitar. she wants to leave her imprint on every part of skin.

mimi pictures herself multi-limbed, a hindu goddess, but in this life, she has two hands, one on his phone, one down his pants. regrettably, she has to drag her hand out of his boxers to place it flat against his chest instead, pushing him back against the carpet, her free hand gripping at his wrist to pin it above his head. for now at least, she’s got him on his back, her body hovering above him as she shifts against the sweet spot where she can feel him through his sweats. she isn’t naive enough to believe it’ll stay that way for long. it’s always a power game between the two of them, both snatching for the upper hand. it’s why she likes him so much — he doesn’t let her win. he makes her work for it, earn it, and it makes it all the sweeter.  she rids him of his shirt in a few sharp tugs, camera scanning over the expanse of his torso, following her finger as it traces the line of his snail trail.  “ wow. this is so female gaze. ”  a smear on the screen filters light in a lens flare. cinematic in its objectification of him, she scans the camera back to his face as she touches him, tugs him free of the fabric that shields him and feels the fullness of him in her hand.  “ what d’you think, baby ? ”  her voice is sickly saccharine, nails trailing over his length, a pressure so light that teasing might border on torture.  “ should i let you fuck me, real nice and slow ? or make you work for it ? ”  if they were live, this would be the moment she called in a vote, lips pursed in consideration as she bats her fluttery eyes and lets him stew beneath her touch.  “ y’know… i’m not sure you deserve me. ”

"uh-huh," he grins. "you're all i see, doll." and for a long time after he got dumped from the show, that was true. max had bounced almost straight from the airport to mimi's apartment, had deemed himself a fixture there like one of her floor lamps or hanging plants. though he'd happily indulge suspicions that their love is pr-sponsored, there's no denying that he'd buried himself in mimi and hadn't looked up. until more recently. until the girls started filtering into his dms, until michelle. and maybe that's where this sad attempt at a fight comes from, she's not as perturbed by some ash as she is by some ass. "yeah, no, i love those crazy fucking snores." as if that's the extent of her fire. as if he doesn't actually love it.

hands instinctively slide up her thighs, pinching the skin where her legs meet hips. "do it," max concurs, words half cut off by a ragged groan from deep in his throat. he's not really watching her face anymore, too preoccupied at the point where their bodies grind together. the fact that she's chosen his phone to film with makes him wanna marry her on the spot, but, then, who needs vows when you have a sex tape? it's a bit like a ouija board when she guides his hand, he's really moving on his own, indicates as much when he pinches down on her nipple. max barely minds the camera now, trusts her to take care of it, and charges himself with using both hands to push her shirt up to the bones of her clavicle. "i think you're submissive," he answers without missing a beat, showing the camera a smirk when he catches her nipple between his teeth then softens it with a wet kiss. one hand reaches around to smack her ass. "totally obedient." in truth, she's as stubborn as he is. "do you think i'd let you be bossy? guy like me?" not to forget the words she'd used to describe him, max would love her to expand on that. he finishes sucking on her skin before craning his chin up to look at her, lays it flat along the middle of her chest. "i would."

#nsfw #nsfw tw #nsfw. #nsfw.txt #mimi & max. #i can't write dirty talk 2 save my life. someone else take over. #⥂ mimi martínez. ╱ threads. #i am cringing reading this back nobody look at this

[drugstoreglitter]

#⥂ mimi martínez. ╱ musings.

[drugstoreglitter]

“ right, sure. guys like you don’t care about anything. ” cue eyeroll, though sometimes, she wonders if max cares about anything but himself.  does he care about her, or is this just as superficial as his daily ‘lives’ on the gram, an attempt at clawing himself into the spotlight by allying his name with hers ? “ ugh. no. ” her tooth ticks against her teeth, irritation stirring in her, though she bottles it. “ can’t have been that memorable if you don’t even know who did it. or are you just sooo into me that i’ve like, eclipsed all other women for you now ? ” she asks, crawling towards him, her hands pushing back the floppy front of his hair, a homage to regina george. she kisses her teeth, his dig landing just south of the border of apathy. mimi hasn’t been perfect since she was a spritely sixteen year old, slipping in and out of basket tosses as easily as an old pair of tights, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want to be. “ baby, you don’t want perfect. you want fiery. spicy. ” and fortunately for max, she’s got that in spades.

breathlessness hangs in the pregnant pause between language, between bodies, until she closes the distance, throws her hair over her shoulder and straddles his lap, hips rising as she builds a slow rhythm, shifting against him. “ maybe we should ‘go live’ with this ? ” she teases, patting down the sofa cushions until she locates his phone, her thumb sliding over the display — she knows his passcode, obviously ; knows all her exes passcodes — but opens instead the camera app, keeping this between them, a memento to remember her by, pining, lamenting, when she's no longer his to play with. maybe they'll break up when rhys gets out. maybe she'll hedge her bets on josh when he stops wasting his time with naomi. maybe she'll drop a line to mr. santos himself, turn up with him on family day — you thought you could steal my guy ? well guess what, bitch. i stole your dad. not that her beef with naomi has ever been more than skin deep ; josh was never hers to keep. the same way max isn't, his mind elsewhere. hungry for his attention, mimi fastens her fingers around his wrist and slides his hand up over her thigh, over her waist, beneath the fabric of her crop top to rest over her chest, a spark of something challenging in her eyes. she watches him watch her through the display of the camera, phone held above her head, catching her best angle, eyes darting between the max that’s made of pixels and the real thing. “ d’you think i’m bossy ? ” she asks, thumb sliding over the hollow of his throat, the television behind them all but forgotten. 

"don't care," max informs her, muffled against the pulse in her throat. if anything, it seems more beneficial to send her there with some beard burn, for all the jason's and rhys' and whoever the fuck else. for good measure he seals his lips to her neck and starts sucking. it doesn't last long though, maybe not even quite long enough to leave any lasting mark, before they make the short fall to the carpet. the impact takes his breath and he grunts dramatically. "christ, fucking drama." but he's laughing at least, careless by nature. he's all loose limbs and lazy smiles under her straight back and rigid seriousness. "yeah, yeah," blue eyes roll to offset the fact he's conceding, "i'll watch my ash and whatever. hey, look, i'll shave, too... was it you who shaved my face?" mimi has to have suspected he was biding his time before he could spoon her some of her own medicine. maybe it's not quite as balanced, though, considering the girl who actually shaved his face isn't imaginary and is in fact on the screen at this moment having some kind of tense moment with her man. ex-man? who knows with frankie. in any case, he's grinning and quick to lock his arms around her in case she tries to wriggle away from that one. "you're not perfect either, you know." defiant, provoking. bluffing a bit. "you snore like a pissed off buzzsaw."

#mimi & max. #⥂ mimi martínez. ╱ threads. #one thing we know for sure abt mimi is tht she lovs 2 dry hump. #never living tht down.

[drugstoreglitter]

location :   arndale shopping centre, manchester.

featuring :   jude & jenny / @vongosh

“nah, this is bullshit… i swear it was here like, last week…” jude says, for the umpteenth time, pacing back and forth, jenny’s hand still locked in his, as he wracks his brain in search of the lingerie store. he’s not dragged her all the way to the arndale centre to go home empty handed — well, not entirely empty handed ; he’ll get her a sausage roll from greggs — but still, he wants to get her something special, show how much he cares. when he was fifteen, he’d saved the money from his paper round for two months to get katie elliott in the year above a nice bra for her birthday ( completely the wrong size, mind, but it’s the thought that counts). it’d feel full circle to take jenny there, passing the lacey baton from his first girlfriend to the one he hopes is his last. not that he plans on getting murdered or owt, just that he wants to have a proper go at this, them, facebook official, doing christmas at his mums, boxing day at hers, names always mentioned together like torvill and fuckin’ dean. maybe one day even kids and shit, or is he getting ahead of himself again ? “ fuck this, i’m calling aoife. ” his hand sinks into the pocket of his trackies, pulling out his phone, screen pressed against his ear as he thrums with nervous energy. “ yooo, whatsup, you know that buff ting underwear place in arndale where kayleigh lost her v-card on that year nine teacher training day ? yeah, that's it ! la senza ! where’s it gone ? s’like the sisterhood of the travelling fucking pants shop over here. ”  seconds later, jude’s hanging up the phone, a dejected expression pulling down the corners of his face, features like ice cream beneath a hot september sun. “ apparently they went into liquidation in 2014. ” such a shame. katie'd always looked the absolute tits in their push-up gel bras, not that jenny needs any assistance. “ fuck sake, where are we gonna go now ? you try and do something nice for someone…” releasing her hand, her draws up a google maps search on his phone, spinning in a circle as he attempts to orientate himself. “ right. thirty yards on the left there’s sommat called boux avenue. ” naturally, he says it all wrong, pronounces the ‘x’ like a period at the end of a sentence. “ we’re not goin’ home until we’ve got you something proper stunning that makes you feel reyt good about yourself. ”  linking his fingers through jenny’s, he draws her in against his side, a kiss pressed against her hairline as jude tugs her along through the precinct. his body's so close to hers that his feet are rendered clumsy, almost tripping over hers in the process, walking in a straight line rendered impossible.  “ and a greggs. can’t have you goin’ back to uncle sam without having sampled the local cuisine. ” 

#this was so jarring to write i can't even explain. #i always forget his accent until i start writing him speaking. #i imagine reading this and not being familiar with british dialect is like having a seizure. that's how i feel when im on scottish twitter. #⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ threads.

[drugstoreglitter]

“ don’t threaten me with a good time. ” her fingertip trails the length of his nose and flicks against the end. “ we’ve fucked in the bath, right ? or was that with jason… ” max doesn’t need to know that there is no ‘jason’, a name plucked out of her ass in the guise of making him work harder to keep her wavering attention, to remind him that she’s got options. maybe it’s manipulative, but sue her. if she wanted, she could walk into any club in the east village, find a leather jacket knockoff with a vinyl collection and a bad attitude, lure him back to her apartment with the dangled carrot of sex and end the night with him unclogging her dishwasher’s orifices. she’s plucked from her plumber fantasy ripped straight out of pornhub with the plugging of a different orifice — his hand between her thighs — a sharp gasp leaving her lips as her own hand chases it down, keeps it flush there against her cycle shorts ( ironic, considering she doesn’t even know how to ride a bike ; never had a dad to teach her that part ). “ max, ” she breathes, her voice a half-whined warning, though whether it’s max she’s warning or herself, she isn’t quite sure. she can see the way his eyes darken, that peter pan spark of mischief tucked into the tear duct, before he’s throwing his weight against her, chin scratching against her neck. “ max ! stop, oh my god ! ” her protests come as a series of pitchy screams, legs thrashing, her hands scrambling to grab at his wrists. soon, laughter dissipates, frustration spilling in its wake. “ stop it, max, i have a shoot on monday, you dick ! ” her hands splay against his chest and shove, the force exerted ( and his hands on her skin ) enough to send the both of them tumbling onto the floor. she’d laugh if she wasn’t so tense. something about watching their old ‘friends’ on a yacht twists in her stomach, or maybe it’s just the ick she gets from that jude guy. looks like the type to turn his boxers inside out instead of washing them. not that max is much better. “ sorry, ” she starts, moving to curl her fingers through his hair. “ just… ” her fist tightens, tugging at the tufts of his hair with an exasperated groan. “ be more fucking considerate. jesus. ”

between all mimi's practiced pauses, max is obliged to slip in his lines from their invisible script. "uh-huh?" then "yeah?". her the well-meaning girlfriend and him the clueless fixer-upper, except this isn't your mother's romcom and she really is being passive aggressive while all his words are freshly dipped in sarcasm like he doesn't know where she's going with this. he barely even looks up from his phone though she has his attention as indicated by the wicked smirk on his face. "so get in there next time and keep my hands busy." what's that thing about being idle? although mimi, he'd posit, is the devil's plaything. "ugh -- mimi," he scoffs raggedly, watching his phone disappear into the cushions. "i was just about to go live. what's the point of having this on if no one's gonna watch us watch it?" that should help him beat the allegations he's only watching for jenny except he's trying to keep his eyes off the screen now - some of the boys messing with jude and then jenny promptly making it about her - when mimi's lips brush against his jaw. "oh, yeah?" challenge shines in his eyes as he starts leaning his weight onto her. "if i gotta power through beard burn, so do you." his fingers slip between her legs, a far too intimate gesture while he's accusing her of having a prickly vagina, but it's brief, a quick, playful press of the heel of his palm. there's a grin smacked on his mouth. the face of a man who knows he's about to piss off his girlfriend, but she only has a fleeting moment to react before he's throwing himself on her and burying that grin into her neck, making sure to drag that scratchy chin all over the soft skin of her throat. "say it. say you love the five o'clock shadow."

#mimi & max. #⥂ mimi martínez. ╱ threads.

[drugstoreglitter]

location :   mimi's apartment, east village, manhattan.

featuring :    max @orumad

        it's nine o'clock, which means it's love island time — they’ve settled into a routine, almost boring in how clockwork it’s become, max settled into the sofa at her side like a lap dog, while she applies a final coat of shellac to her nails — but rather than crank up the volume and whip up the twitter app, mimi's decided that now is the perfect time to pick at scabs. “ babe… ” she begins, voice measured, fixing a diamante gem to the centre of her ring finger as ian stirling’s voice cuts across the sitting room. her sitting room, which recently he’s been treating less like a place of worship and more like a five guys drive thru. “ you know when you have a bath ? ”  in my bath, she wants to add. my lovingly selected claw - footed victorian bath.  “ it’s fiiiiine if you want to like, smoke a doob, check out of the stratosphere, whatever, but can you maybe like, not leave your gross ass cigarette butts all over the veneer ? because it’s bugging me out. ” examining her nails, she presses the final diamante into place, pants a series of warm little breaths against their tips, and once she’s satisfied they’re dry, links her fingers through max's, knocking his phone from his hand. “ and i think we should do a social media detox, too. it’ll be good to get back to basics. remind of us what’s important. ”  remind him that she's important. in other words ; stop fucking messaging michelle. mimi forces a grin, turning her gaze on him, eyes scanning over his features. he could do with a shave, too. looks kinda like she found him shelling peanuts at a yard sale, and took pity enough to bring him home. she gets that he's got his whole 'loose, lusty, and unbothered rocker' thing, but she's got standards ( a laminated list of them, in fact ). her lips connect with his jaw, pressing a kiss there, and she startles back with a performative little yelp. “ ooh. scratchy. ” hand ruffling through his hair, she reaches for the remote.

#she thinks she's sm better than him and it shows !! #mimi & max. #this is so evil gf coded i hate it bt i love it #⥂ mimi martínez. ╱ threads.

[drugstoreglitter]

friends! pls help, how do i cut posts with this new dashboard? has xkit gone?

[drugstoreglitter]

having a backbone: rpc edition

roseygraphics‌:

not everyone is going to like you and the faster you come to this conclusion the easier you will find your time on this website.

people will talk behind your back: let them because if they can’t say it to your face clearly it’s not important. some people aren’t worth convincing. 

someones dislike towards you does not determine your whole worth & it’s important to remember that.

someone you may know will block/softblock you: no matter how much you’ve done for them, been there for them or shared with them, unforunately, it’s best to let them go.

it’s not your duty to impress others: do things that you find productive for your enjoyment online & offline tumblr. 

you may not always fit into a group: but that doesn’t make you any less adored or respected. 

being selfish is okay: especially for your own mental health as long as you’re not putting down others. 

you’re going to have bad days: never let someone in this community make you feel bad for them.

you’re going to have great days: embrace them & enjoy them

#ooc.

[drugstoreglitter]

FRANKIE & MAX.​

“she’s the cat one,” max adds with his first gulp of air post-chug of his whole flask. they’re engaged in a one-sided game of charades with the unimpressed bouncers, frankie scratching invisible disks and max making his hands into cat ears at the crown of his head. “uh — valerie russian? the fuck.” max volleys a sarcastic scoff sidelong to the blonde like she’s a fool for even asking him. he frowns at the back of her head, now miming offense. “braddy. like baddie. y’know what, fuck it, after another tin of this shitty fucking vodka, you can call me whatever you want. especially if you’re takin’ me back home.” a beat of thought, she might not even be listening to him now, effectively talking to himself. “just not miles. that’s a li’l,” he tilts his hand back and forth, “fuckin’ weird, even for me.”

max sighs dramatically, exhausted with this scene and only managing to hold the embarrassment to the edges of his perception. ain’t no way he’s tryin’ to be seen begging fuckin’ bouncers to let him into some over hyped techno-pop club. “tell her max is baring his soul, being real. she’ll come running.” eyes roll, his sigh is ragged now. “can’t you, like,” he lowers his voice, leaning into frankie’s ear as he sizes up the bouncer, “offer to blow him or something? or — show your tits?” eyes fall to the tits in question. might as well get something for himself out of this. it feels like a lost cause even if she were down, the bouncers unwilling to indulge them. he pulls on the crook of her elbow. “c’mon. alley. let’s see about the side door.”

     “ whatever i want ? ”  frankie repeats, mischief dancing in her eyes, no longer interested in the bouncers, attention snagged like a thread in a door jamb by the fun she’ll have with this, with max. “ sure you won’t regret that, sugar tits ? ”  her fingers move to clamp his nipples in the pinch and twist so many castro boys had fallen victim to in a game of rough-housing, snort cackle sounding from her lips, but it dies in her mouth the second his name comes out of max’s mouth. she’s though about him, of course she’s thought about him, but hearing his name aloud tastes like biting into the sour pit of a flying saucer candy.  “ don’t say his name, ”  frankie snips, perhaps a little too brusquely, a cat smacking a ball of yarn from the air with it’s claws.  “ i just... i don’t wanna talk about it. ”  besides, she’d never mix them up.  “ you guys are nothing alike. ” max is coarse in all of the ways that miles was softness and warmth. if people were furniture, miles was a hammock she wanted to dive into, whereas max’s edges are cold and sharp, like the kitchen island in a minimalist’s penthouse apartment.  “ i mean, for starters he could actually get this. ”  frankie states, gesturing vaguely at herself, the age-old prerequisite that he wants her and won’t have her. now she wants a smoke, and maybe a key of something, to tune out the memory of what it felt like to be touched by him. 

    if it isn’t enough that he’s brought up the mid-fielding elephant in the room, he has to go and make that comment. she’s bringing her foot up before she can help it, clipping him in the back of the shin. he should be grateful it’s not a knee to the groin, or a sock to the jaw.  “ no, max. i’m not gonna blow them to get us in, jeez. i’m not a human cock glove. ”  max would probably do it, because he’s slutty and lacks self-respect, and yeah, maybe frankie can be those things too, but as a last resort, not as a second resort. her hand catches his chin, adjusts his gaze back to her face. “ what, you lose something down there ? eyes up, soldier. ”  part of frankie hates constantly berating him, thinks fuck it, why not let him stare at your tits and talk like a robin thicke song, but he’s just so easy to berate. she swivels her elbow around max’s, linking and relinking like they’re about to break into a rendition of consider yourself and not just looking for a cheat code in to barbie’s techno coke house. “ hey ! look at that — a bathroom window left ajar. how convenient... almost suspiciously convenient. ”  she’s assuming it’s a bathroom, due to the frosting, and the fact that it looks barely big enough to squeeze through. will her tits even fit through that ? will her ass ?  max, on the other hand, will have no issues, all elbows and shaped like a pipe cleaner.  “ you wanna squat down and gimme a boost ?  i’d suggest you go first, but i know you’d drop my ass and leave me stranded the second you got inside, so...”

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #⥂ verse. ╱ crack on. #frankie & max.